


let me be your killer king

by vargs



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Psychopaths In Love, Psychosis, Secret Santa, Trashshipping, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vargs/pseuds/vargs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only Tuesday and the world’s already gone to shit. It isn’t even Christmas yet, but with this pretty little apocalypse, wrapped up tight and delivered right into their hands, it might as well be.</p><p>They’re just two madmen—broken, bent out of shape, fighting for scraps—sharing a last laugh before something between them must break.</p><p>(or: <em>What might have happened if they had set aside their differences and seen the beautiful havoc they could wreak together.</em>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me be your killer king

**Author's Note:**

> this was written as part of the YGO Secret Santa event hosted on Tumblr. my assignment was Trashshipping with a vague holiday-themed prompt. kind of had trouble seeing these two be anything close to fluffy, so uh... creative liberties taken with the prompt.
> 
> please heed the warnings. i hope i tagged things correctly.

At first, he’s less than thrilled by the shift in perspective that Malik’s darker side lends to their operation.

( _Did he say shift? More like a full-axis tilt toward the abyss._ )

Bakura may admit to being less than sane, but Dark Malik’s level of unhinged is cause for concern. Loose cannons were unpredictable and his was a revenge 3000 years in the making. He was patient, but not that patient.

“What the hell do I call you now? Or do you even have a name?”

They’re standing in the dark, Malik’s loyal and unfortunate brother lying unconscious between them, the glint of a knife in one of their hands.

Make no mistake—Bakura had run fresh out of compassion decades and decades ago, but this man is the key to keeping Malik’s sanity intact and Bakura much preferred the main personality over the split.

Dammit, he didn’t have time to play babysitter. He had been promised a partner in crime, not a murderer dispensing chaos at his whimsy.

“Malik’s better half,” the man in Malik’s skin croons. It’s Malik’s voice, but lowered to an enticing, effortless menace that he’s never heard in Malik’s tone before. “The side that gets shit done. I might as well take over for all the good he does when he’s the one doing the driving.”

His grin is as sharp as the Rod’s hidden edge, a slash of a smile across his face. If Bakura is human vengeance turned to darkness, then this figment of personality is unchecked madness from the void.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to confirm that,” Bakura drawls back. “So I’d like my dear partner back, if I may. He and I have a deal, and I suspect he’d be rather upset if he comes back to find his brother murdered. Enough to renege on what we agreed on.”

He ( _it?_ ) laughs, a harsh, rasping chuckle.

“I can give you exactly what he’s offering, but with a lot more fun.”

“Fun?” Bakura says, a bit of an incredulous note to his voice. “Vengeance is work. I want results, not fun.”

And then the Other Malik is leaning across the prone form of the eldest Ishtar, the Rod’s unsheathed point a little too close to Rishid’s body for comfort. It can’t have been anything more than a flicker of his eyes to betray his thoughts, but as Bakura returns his gaze to the other man, the leer he’s given tells him that his thoughts had been read like a book.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t do anything just yet. I’d really like to keep our alliance, at least for the time being.”

When Bakura makes no reply, he continues obligingly, taking a step back from the bed and spreading his arms wide as if to say he was harmless, as if he hadn’t entered this room with the intent to kill.

“Perhaps you need some proof of my good will? A show of good faith?”

Bakura finally frowns and _this_ the Other Malik takes for the victory that it is. His uncanny ability to guess at another’s thoughts tell him that this is his chance. This is the gap he can slip through and infiltrate, whisper dark seduction until he can get Bakura to submit.

( _Perhaps he has spent too much time in other people’s heads throughout the years. It has become almost too easy to recognize darkness in people._ )

Finally allowed a way to disable his useless, weaker half is a thrilling prospect, but there is better prey to be had. The crawling, writhing darkness he senses from this spirit of the Ring intrigues him. He thinks perhaps he might have found a likely comrade to share his vision of the world.

There aren’t enough individuals who understand what their kind saw. His main personality is too afraid to fully embrace it.

This world is a disgusting cesspit of liars and lowlifes, crawling with pathetic creatures who cling desperately to their gods and beliefs in their dumb fear of the unknown. They hurt and they kill and they tread on each other’s faces to stay above ground. All the while, they claim to be good little lambs. They pretend they’re better, so that they might sleep at night and feel good about themselves, self-righteous in their purposeful ignorance.

“The information carved into your back,” Bakura tosses out. “Show me.” It doesn’t seem like the night will end with a knife in someone’s gut anymore, so he supposes he can entertain some other prospects.

It’s the perfect exchange, really.

—

The agreement is that they would carry their own agendas and stay out of each other’s way. Bakura has his doubts that this other personality will keep to the bargain. Malik had never had his full trust in the first place, but this Malik has even less of it.

With the Tombkeepers’ secrets revealed to him, Bakura now has the advantage in the game. The Pharaoh is blind. This is his chance to get ahead.

Of course things don’t go as planned.

Bakura’s taken to keeping knives on his person, and it comes in handy when the security guard catches him where he’s not supposed to be snooping. Pity that his landlord’s pale, thin body doesn’t have the kind of strength he needs to win a close-combat fight.

The man has Bakura’s arm twisted behind his back. His first knife is somewhere on the ground at his feet, and he can’t reach the other knife he has hidden in his back pocket because the bastard has him pinned to the wall. God, what a fucking hassle—

And then the guard gasps a high note of pain, releases him. In an instant, he’s swung himself around, pulling his other knife out, ready. But the guard is already stumbling back and away. There’s a switchblade sticking out of his back, low, probably piercing a kidney. Would explain why the pain had been enough to throw him off.

There’s a third person in the hallway.

Well, the Other Malik can wait. The security guard, on the other hand, who is reaching for the radio at his belt, is the more urgent matter to be taken care of.

To his annoyance, Not-Malik insists on intruding further on his territory. A well-aimed kick sends the radio flying; a second one sends the man to the floor, blood streaming from a broken nose.

Bakura’s growling by this point. This is _his_ domain.

“What are you doing?!” he snarls, seething.

There’s an infuriating smirk on the Other Malik’s face. But he takes a step back, waves a hand before him like he’s _giving him permission to proceed_.

Maybe that’s why the unfortunate guard ends up the way he does.

By the time Bakura’s done, he’s almost regretful. Almost. There hadn’t really been any reason to slice the man up this much. Poor thing hadn’t stopped screaming until he’d cut out his tongue and torn out his vocal chords.

He’ll have to burn these clothes. Ryou’s shoes were definitely ruined. And then there is the issue of the mess he’s made of this body.

A noise from the corner alerts Bakura to the fact that he had, in fact, had an audience. Ah yes, this piece of shit who’d butted in on his business despite their agreement to keep to their own separate agendas.

“This is your fault,” Bakura snaps, even though it technically isn’t. But he feels high as a kite, the heady scent of blood is positively overwhelming, and _**fuck**_ , he’ll have to clean this up somehow.

He hears footfalls come up behind him.

“You know,” Not-Malik murmurs, voice giddy with an emotion that Bakura doesn’t realize is excitement until he feels heavy arms drape themselves over his shoulders, encircling around to touch and feel, roaming down his torso, over his bloodied shirt.

“You look gorgeous in red,” he says, a rumble in Bakura’s ear. “Shows up so nicely against white.” Now there are fingers tangling into Bakura’s hair, combing through matted clumps where blood had started drying.

Bakura rolls his eyes.

“Well aren’t you a fucking charmer.” But it’s been such a long while since he’s had the chance to come out and play. Something savage is still coursing through his veins and for once, he feels powerful and completely in control.

Since the Other Malik’s offering, who’s he to say no? It’s been ages since the last time something like this has happened to him.

He twists around. Their close proximity means that now there’s gore covering them both. Disgusting.

“On your knees,” Bakura orders, and a thrill runs through him when the man obeys, watches him run that obscene tongue over his lips. Bakura fists a hand in the Other Malik’s wild hair, pulling him closer. The other hand he uses to caress a dark cheek, thumb tracing over the kohl lining one dilated, lavender eye.

“Bite and I’ll take out your eyes.”

The Other Malik doesn’t even look the least bit cowed. There’s that obnoxious cackle again.

Well he’ll shut up soon enough.

—

“I’m going to pretend I’m interested,” the Spirit of the Ring says later, after his now partner in crime into helping him clean up the evidence. He should go clean himself up, but it’s been a hell of a night. A shower can wait. “What are you after?”

The other man is sprawled across the sheets on his side of the bed, taking up entirely to much room. The sheets are going to have to burned as well, at this rate. (Or he could leave it as is for Ryou to find in the morning. Might be a good laugh.)

“Simple tastes, remember?” A razor-sharp smile, mouth too wide. “Killing the Pharaoh would be nice, but I’m not picky.”

“I just want out. Who do you think was the one who saved us from a life locked away underground in the darkness? Who do you think gave that old man exactly what he deserved? Me! And then I get locked away by that coward!”

“The problem with Malik is that he’s too soft. You understand.” He slides a sly look toward Bakura. The smirk that had disappeared when he’d gone into his tirade is back.

And Bakura grudgingly realizes that he does. A disembodied spirit and a split personality. Stuck in a shitty world where no one wants them. There’s nothing but vengeance in mind to keep them going.

“Oh, but Malik’s idea isn’t too shabby,” the Other Malik laughs. He’s moving closer again. The man seems to have developed a fascination with his hair (or Ryou’s hair, he supposes), because a hand is back threading through the hair at his neck.

( _If it moves to choke, Bakura has yet more knives hidden in this room._ )

“Get in line,” Bakura snorts, but he’s less affronted and more just bored. “I had a 3000 year claim on the Pharaoh’s soul first. We may have established an armistice, but don’t think for a second I’m letting anyone claim my prize before me.”

“Stingy! Don’t you know how to share?”

“Besides, If you’re the new king, then what am I, hm?”

“Hmm.” The Other Malik makes a show of being deep in thought, but Bakura can tell by the shit-eating grin on his face that there are no gears turning behind those eyes. “My queen?”

And Bakura should cut him for that one, maybe break a couple fingers since that hand is so far into his personal space.

( _There was a moment earlier when he’d thought about reaching for that blade hidden between the mattress and the bedframe, thought about taking its thin edge, tracing it up the row of muscle on the Other Malik’s torso and sliding it, easy does it, in between the the lowest two ribs while they’re fucking, so he can watch him lose his breath in a completely different way._ )

Instead, he shrugs off the arm around his shoulder and leaves the Other Malik laughing hysterically to himself. Moron.

“But this is about as sincere an offer as I can make, Bakura,” the Other Malik manages in between subsiding chuckles. “We could rule the world together.”

And isn’t that a lovely idea? Two beings with no claim to a body, no claim to this world, suddenly finding themselves at the top of it all, potential grasped in their fingers. Finally, after so long, he can complete his revenge and then watch everything else burn to ashes.

“You’re insane,” Bakura says.

—

_His name is Malik._

_He has just as much claim to it as the original Malik does. It’s not fair, not fair, **not f a i r**._

_**H e** is the one who saved them from a lifetime of darkness and servitude, only to be subjected to imprisonment by the very person he’d been created to save._

_Is it any wonder that he would go to such lengths not to be buried back under the original personality again?_

_The original Malik has been fighting back. He has many things to lose, too many schemes, too many people he’s forgotten to carve out of his heart._

_But the Other Malik is a beast, backed into a corner, threatened with the loss of his entire existence._

_Rishid is gone. He’s not in the room. Where. W h e r e? **WHERE!?**_

_It must be Ishizu’s doing. He hadn’t intended on killing her at first, but now he really thinks he will._

_He’s gripping the Rod so tightly, his fingers are going numb, but god, what he feels like his innards have dropped out, been replaced with writhing snakes. He needed to do something. Anything._

_The pounding in his head is so severe, he almost walks right into the pale figure standing by the door. When had Bakura gotten here? But then he’s almost gleeful because there, **there** , something to take out his turmoil on. He could unleash everything onto him._

—

“You’re looking a little worse for wear,” Bakura observes. He’s taking care to stay a safe distance away. The Other Malik is looking quite a bit more off his rocker than usual. And Bakura knows why.

The Other Malik, despite the strain on his face and sweat coursing down his brow, continues to sport that terrifying, manic grin. 

“What are you talking about?” the man questions, high and gleeful. There’s a quaver in his tone that he can’t control. “Everything’s fantastic now that you’re here.”

He takes an unsteady step toward Bakura, the Rod slips in his grasp a little and slices his hand. The Other Malik can’t even feel the pain.

“Oh please,” Bakura sneers. He doesn’t move, but one of his hands are already tracing the handle of one of his concealed blades. “I come with a gift. Think of it as early Christmas out of the kindness of my heart.”

“I don’t need anything from you, Spirit.” Except a body to cut up and abuse so he won’t have to feel like this, won’t have to take it. “You were a fool to come.”

“He’s on the second floor. Two doors down from your sister’s room, I believe. Guarded, but that shouldn’t be a problem for us.”

And that. That gives him pause. It’s a cacophony of screaming noise in his brain, but even that quiets down enough for the meaning to travel through fried synapses, bring some clarity to his state. 

’Us,’ he’d said. 

**Us.**

—

—

—

—

It’s only Tuesday and the world’s already gone to shit. It isn’t even Christmas yet, but with this pretty little apocalypse, wrapped up tight and delivered right into their hands, it might as well be.

They’re just two madmen—broken, bent out of shape, fighting for scraps—sharing a last laugh before something between them must break.

**Author's Note:**

> anyone who knows me gets no points for guessing where the title comes from. actually you get no points anyway because i'm very obvious trash.
> 
> i apologize if i offended anyone with this. ;;


End file.
